


Everyone Likes A Good Love Story

by merle_p



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Adventure, Fake Marriage with the Wrong Person, Friendship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Mostly Canon Compliant - Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Poe Dameron, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Team, classist society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: “I’m fine, Poe,” Finn smiles, his hand coming up to circle Poe’s wrist in a reassuring gesture. “Thanks for coming to get me. I wasn’t sure you’d know where to look.”“Poe put a tracker on you,” Rey says dryly, and Finn’s eyes widen a little but so does his smile.“Oh yeah?” he says, and Rey snorts.“I can’t believe you would actually find that romantic,” she says. “How about we focus on getting out of here?”
Relationships: BB-8 & Poe Dameron, Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey, Poe Dameron & Leia Organa, Poe Dameron & Temmin "Snap" Wexley, Poe Dameron/Finn, very minor Rose Tico/Beaumont Kin
Comments: 23
Kudos: 231
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Everyone Likes A Good Love Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



> Hello smaragdbird, it was such a pleasure to write for you, especially for this pairing we both love. Hope you enjoy your gift!

The couples’ guest suite at Vischnanca’s public palace is ridiculous. The living area alone is big enough to comfortably fit the entire Millennium Falcon, and decked out from floor to ceiling in extravagant fabrics: it’s all thick carpets, giant silk cushions, heavy curtains, and fresh flower petals scattered randomly across the space for good measure.

Rey takes one look at the interior and unceremoniously dumps her dusty travel bag on the floor.

“This is –“ she starts, but Poe cuts her off with a finger against his lips. She frowns at him, the indignant stare quickly giving way to understanding when she sees BB-8 rolling up to inspect the door hinges, then the electric charging stations. They watch in silence as he sweeps the room, only sharing a look of concern when he finds a second electronic device, which he disables expertly with his pincer arm just like the first.

“That all?” Poe asks quietly, and the droid beeps a confident affirmative.

“Nice job,” Poe says, patting BB-8’s dome somewhat distractedly, eliciting a series of happy thrills.

Rey exhales heavily as if she’s been holding her breath the entire time. She gingerly sits on the edge of the bed and squeaks in protest when she immediately sinks into the soft mattress almost up to the neck. She wrestles with the exquisitely woven throw, then glares up at Poe.

“This is ridiculous,” she says darkly. 

“You can say that again,” he agrees, and drags a heavy hand over his face.

“The G’liout are reasonable folks, for the most part,” General Organa had said during their mission briefing back at the Resistance base. 

“Or used to be. It’s been a while since we were in direct contact with them. But Alderaan had a fairly amicable relationship with the royal family when I was a child.”

“Their interplanetary politics tend to be moderately progressive,” C-3PO chimed in eagerly. The general opened her mouth and then closed it again, gesturing in resignation for him to go on. 

“In the past they were quietly supportive of the Rebellion,” the droid continued. “But they have made a distinct effort to remain neutral since the collapse of the New Republic. Most of their wealth comes from the favorable conditions Glieud provides for transplanetary financial transactions – low taxes, lower fees …”

“ … and even fewer questions,” Leia interrupted firmly. “Thank you, C-3PO. I hope their invested interest in a stable galaxy-wide economy will convince them that supporting us will be to their benefit. They won’t be willing to deploy troops but if we can get them to offer some financial resources, well. It would be an immense help.” 

She paused for effect, and Poe nodded to signal his understanding, even though it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. 

“They do have an extremely rigid system of social stratification,” she continued. “Very hierarchical. So please, I implore you, in the name of the Force, at least _try_ to be deferential towards the important authority figures.” 

She threw Poe a sharp look, and he would have been offended if Finn and Rey hadn’t gotten the same treatment a moment later. Fleetingly, he wondered why she was sending the three of them if she clearly didn’t trust either of them to actually behave. But then, she didn’t exactly have the luxury to choose from a large selection of staff members truly skilled in the arts of diplomacy right now. 

“Also, they are particular about personal space,” Leia said, and now Poe made sure to pay attention, because he’d figured out the hard way long ago that these seemingly random facts were often the small details that could make or break a mission. 

“Try to avoid touching any of their people in public if you can, and under no circumstances should you ever touch a stranger’s face.”

Poe saw Finn opening his mouth from the corner of his eye, but Leia cut him off before he could speak.

“I mean it,” she said, pointing an emphatic index finger at him. “It’s a serious offense.”

Finn swallowed and nodded gravely. Poe filtered the piece of information away for when it would be relevant, then allowed his mind to move towards pre-flight checks and questions about appropriate wardrobe.

In hindsight, he thinks as he gloomily inspects the intricate flower patterns on the wallpaper in their luxurious suite, it might have been helpful to let Finn ask the question that had clearly been on the tip of his tongue: just why exactly touching a stranger’s face was such a major social taboo.

They meet up with Finn again in the palace’s beautiful courtyard, where a handful of people are strolling leisurely among the opulent flowerbeds. At least here, the G’liouts’ need for personal space provides them with an advantage, because it is easy to converse without having to worry about being overheard. Everyone is giving them a wide berth, throwing only furtive looks towards the corner of the yard where they are huddled together closely in what is possibly a slightly inappropriate manner.

“I found two in my room as well,” Finn says grimly when they tell him about the recording tech. “Do you think they already know that we disabled them?”

Rey tilts her head in consideration. “I don’t think so,” she says at last. “They seemed to be basic recording devices, I don’t think they are meant to transmit.”

BB-8 whistles his agreement, and Poe nods, momentarily satisfied.

“Good,” he says, “but we should run a check when we go back to our rooms later tonight. Just in case they snoop around while we are gone and end up replacing them.”

“Yeah,” Finn sighs, his shoulders slumping. He has been looking distinctly unhappy ever since they made landfall, and Poe finds himself feeling mildly resentful in the face of Finn’s obvious frustration – after all, Finn isn’t the one who got himself tangled up in a forced fake marriage within minutes of his arrival on Glieud. Poe wonders if he’s upset that he doesn’t get to take advantage of the lavish couples’ suite. Apparently the single guest rooms are slightly more modest in comparison, though probably still a dozen times better than their bunks on the Resistance base. 

Poe watches Finn frown against the low afternoon sun and feels his untypical irritation give way to a softer, warmer feeling that he is much better acquainted with. He pushes his fists deeply into the pockets of his uniform coat to keep himself from doing something stupid like, say, cause a public scandal by reaching out to trace the worry lines crossing Finn’s forehead with his finger.

Over Finn’s shoulder, he spots General Spada walking up to them, a woman in the official robes of the court following behind, and he quickly shifts to stand at attention. 

“I hope you have found your accommodations adequate,” Spada says in greeting. “May I introduce Lady Vi’adi, our Minister of Transcultural Affairs. These are our honored guests, Lady Rey, Lord Finn, Lord Dameron, subjects to Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan.”

“Welcome, strangers,” Vi’adi says in Basic Standard that is tinted only with the slightest hint of a local accent. “How are you enjoying Vischnanca so far?”

“Thank you, Minister,” Rey says tightly, sounding very polite and nothing like herself. “It is very beautiful.”

And it is, Poe thinks. Everything on Glieud is so very, very beautiful. The ridiculous guest suite. The flower gardens. The far-away mountains on the horizon. The lavish formal clothing. Everything is beautiful in a very purposeful way, and Poe wonders if that isn’t kind of the point. He and Finn are wearing the best dress uniforms the Resistance was able to dig up at short notice, Rey is wrapped in a complicated and delicate affair that apparently used to be Leia’s when she was her age, and Poe still can’t help but feel that they are seriously underdressed.

“How wonderful,” the minister nods. She, too, is very beautiful. “The Queen is now ready to receive you to discuss official affairs. Afterwards, we hope you will join us for some modest festivities, on the occasion of your recent betrothal to Commander Dameron.” She claps her hands. “Such a joyous event needs to be recognized.”

“Uhm,” Rey says blankly, apparently having used up all her potential for formality in one single sentence. Poe steps up next to her and rests his hand lightly against the crook of her elbow. The minister tracks the movement with her eyes, smiling mildly.

“It is our honor,” he says, a little stiffly, and Spada nods, satisfied. 

“We are glad to hear it,” he says. “We all want to hear about how Princess Leia’s right-hand man and the Jedi girl found each other.”

Poe inclines his head and forces a smile that he hopes looks appropriately appreciative. 

He is pretty sure that in his periphery he can see Finn rolling his eyes. 

Poe knows, of course, what people say about him. He’s heard them all, the jokes about how the famous Poe Dameron smile could charm the fur off a Wookie, inspire stormtroopers to defect, and convince an army to march off a cliff. People tend to think that also makes him a good political strategist, but the truth is that Poe is kind of shit at diplomacy. Getting people to like him, that is easy: Give away enough of yourself to make people feel at ease, hold back what you don’t want them to see. Make them feel safe, make them feel seen. The fact that Poe for the most part genuinely loves people just makes it so much easier getting that message across.

But diplomacy, he knows, is not about making people like you. When it comes down to it, diplomacy is all about bluffs, about threats wrapped up in pretty bows; it’s about making people feel like they are at risk of missing out if they don’t go along with your plan. Part of him is willing to admit that this may be an unfair characterization. He has trailed after the general for long enough to recognize the grace she bestows on those on the opposite side of the negotiating table; and he’s been in the military long enough to know that diplomacy is, more often than not, preferable to people dying just because someone wasn’t willing to compromise. 

That doesn’t change the fact, though, that these diplomatic encounters generally end up making Poe feel like he’s lying through his teeth even when he’s telling nothing but the truth; that they make him feel as if he’s impersonating a stranger even when he’s representing no one other than Commander Poe Dameron of Leia Organa’s Resistance Fleet. 

So when he had stepped down the Falcon’s exit ramp onto the landing bay at Vischnanca’s spaceport, he had been hyperaware of the way the unfamiliar dress uniform didn’t fit quite right, the way the stiff material was chafing at his neck, dragging against his armpits, reminding him with every step that the uniform was meant to be worn by someone else. 

The only reason he was here was because the original owner of the uniform was dead, and Poe was not. 

He noticed Rey squinting at him and wondered if she felt as awkward as he did. 

“Do I look acceptable?” he asked, his voice not quite as steady as he would have liked. 

“Huh? Yeah, yeah,” she said carelessly, distractedly. It occurred to him that he should have asked Finn: the man had a better sense for the subtleties of style than Rey, who thought anything beyond a cut-up flour sack was fancy dress. But Finn had already started walking down the side of the landing strip, waving at them to follow. 

He turned to hurry after him, but Rey held him back with a quick hand on his arm.

“Wait,” she said, “hold still. You’ve got something …”

Before he could stop her, she licked her thumb and swiped it deftly over his cheek, then held up her hand triumphantly to show off the smear of engine grease on her fingertip.

“There, all done.”

“Thanks,” he said, and rubbed the back of his hand against his cheekbone to wipe away the sticky saliva, trying not to feel like a 5-year old child. 

The armed security guards at the end of the hall ran scanners over their bodies, checked their bags, reiterated the general ban on firearms of all kinds, and gave BB-8 a suspicious look before waving them through the gate that led from the hangar into a much more comfortable lounge space. 

A tall man in uniform raised his hand in a salute, the various stars and medals on his lapel jingling softly. “Welcome to Vischnanca, honored guests. I am General Spada, Head of Security to his Majesty, Queen of Glieud.” 

Poe mirrored the salute, then bowed. Finn and Rey imitated him hastily, and Poe winced internally. He seemed to recall that Rey was supposed to greet people with some kind of curtsy. But then, he thought, if the general had wanted a representative who was willing to curtsy, she really should have known to send someone else. 

“I do apologize about the weapons policy,” Spada said smoothly as he led them out of the building towards a waiting passenger speeder. “I can assure you that it is standard procedure for all off-world visitors. The Queen will be seeing you after you get settled in your quarters.” 

He used a remote-controlled key to slide open the hatch to the aircraft. “I hope you don’t mind us taking a small detour. We will take the scenic route back to the capital.”

“Why is that?” Finn asked in a tone that probably sounded indifferent to anyone who didn’t know him, although Poe could clearly hear the hint of suspicion in his voice. 

Spada threw Poe a sly little smile, seemingly ignoring Finn’s inquiry. “We want to make sure that your accommodations will be ready by the time you get there. I just called ahead so they can prepare the couples’ suite for Lord Dameron and his spouse. I apologize for the delay. We didn’t realize you were bonded.”

“Bonded?” Poe asked, and in some kind of mortifying, suicidal reflex found himself turning his head to look at Finn. 

“You and the Lady Rey,” Spada nodded. “We saw you touching out on the landing strip.” 

Poe schooled his features into what he hoped was a mostly neutral expression, and tried very hard not to scream. 

“You must be recently bonded to be so affectionate in public.” Spada’s voice took on a different quality, a little bit too intimate for Poe’s taste. 

Poe carefully avoided looking back at Finn. “Very recently,” he managed to say.

“Ah, young love,” the general smiled, his tone equal parts intrigued and patronizing. “I remember it well.”

“Eh,” Rey said slowly, and when Poe turned his head, her expression mirrored perfectly what he was feeling. 

_Oh, kriff._

The Queen serves them very strong caf with lots of sugar in tiny delicate cups, and tiny pieces of candied nuts on tiny silver plates. 

“How is Princess Leia faring these days?” she asks, elegantly guiding the cup to her lips. 

“She sends her greetings,” Poe says, fumbling with his own cup. His fingers are too thick to fit through the handle, which seems to have been designed for the hands of a child. “She is very busy rebuilding the Resistance after our last encounter with the First Order.”

“I have no doubts,” the Queen nods graciously. “We spent much time together as children, as I am sure you know. But life and duty have taken us in different directions.”

“She always had such an unconventional lifestyle,” Crown Prince R’etg throws in. “For royalty, I mean.”

The other G’liouts nod in agreement. It’s a small circle around the table: The Queen and her eldest son, General Spada, Minister Vi’adi, and two other senior advisors, whose names Poe has no idea how to pronounce. The banquet in the evening will be a slightly larger affair, they have been told. Poe is very much _not_ looking forward to it. 

“Indeed,” Vi’adi says with a slight chuckle. “I say – a princess marrying an ordinary pilot? A quite unusual arrangement.” 

Finn coughs quietly, and the minister catches herself, turning towards Poe with an apologetic smile. “No offense meant, Commander.”

“None taken,” Poe says, honestly enough. He’ll be the first to admit that he would be way out of Leia Organa’s league. In fact, he has said so numerous times, whenever rumors flare up again after some new recruit sees him leave the general’s quarters at odd hours of the night and draws misguided conclusions. 

Leia asked him once if he would like her to put the rumors to rest, but he waved her off. 

“Anyone who thinks you would stoop so low as to dally with me is flattering me, really,” he said with a grin. 

She smiled indulgently and swatted his head in an uncharacteristically playful gesture that probably further fueled the gossip mill but made Poe wonder, not for the first time, whom he actually reminded her of: her dead husband, her dead brother, or her estranged homicidal son. 

“Princess Leia has been dedicating her life to the challenge of securing peace in the galaxy,” he says now, setting down his half-empty cup. A servant appears at his elbow and replaces it with a fresh one before he can intervene.

“She knows how much stability matters to Glieud, and she shares your concerns.”

“Stability is of utmost importance to us,” one of the older advisors agrees. “Which is why a neutral stance in interplanetary politics has been a priority for us. The people who come to Glieud for business are counting on it, in fact. Neutrality. Discretion. Giving that up would certainly cause some consternation.”

“Of course,” Poe starts, but Finn cuts him off, leaning forward in his chair. 

“Will the First Order allow you to maintain your neutral stance, though?” 

The Queen raises her brows at his bluntness. “That is the question, isn’t it.”

“They have left us alone so far,” Spada says pointedly. Poe can hear the unspoken _Unlike some other people_ loud and clear. 

“You think it will last?” Rey asks skeptically. 

“We can only hope, my dear,” the Queen says. “But I understand why it must feel especially pressing to you right now.” 

“You do?” Rey asks, blinking once. 

“Since you are planning to start a family,” the Queen elaborates. 

“Children, you mean?” There is a hint of incredulous hysteria in Rey’s eyes as she glances at Poe, then quickly away. 

“Yes, of course,” Poe nods, as earnestly as he can manage. “It’s really too bad that it is such a scary world to bring children into. But as soon as the First Order is defeated, we will be overjoyed to add children to our family.”

Rey nods decisively. “So many children.” 

Finn chokes on his caf, sputtering and coughing.

Poe focuses on returning Vi’adi’s delighted smile, and resolutely does not look back at his friend. 

“That went well,” Poe says afterwards. 

“No, it didn’t,” Finn retorts, raising an incredulous eyebrow at him. 

Poe deflates. “I guess it really didn’t,” he concedes reluctantly.

They are following Minister Vi’adi, who is escorting them back to their rooms so they can get ready for the reception. The minister is using the time to tell Rey about Glieudian marriage customs, leaving Finn and Poe to trail behind them at a distance. 

“I didn’t expect them to talk about Leia and Han like that,” Poe admits. “I suppose they don’t value pilots particularly highly.”

“More highly than former stormtroopers,” Finn grunts, and Poe pulls a face. 

“I noticed,” he says. “They were barely able to look at you. I don’t get it. Out of the three of us, you have the most heroic story to tell.”

Finn snorts. “What did you expect?” he says, with untypical bitterness. “They believe in social hierarchy. Makes sense that a rogue foot soldier isn’t exactly considered polite company.”

Poe blinks at Finn’s tone. “Don’t tell me you agree with them.” 

Finn glances away. “I didn’t say that,” he murmurs. 

“At least they seem excited about the marriage thing,” Poe says hesitantly, trying for optimistic. 

Finn shoots him an annoyed look. “You don’t need to sound so cheerful about it,” he grumbles, then speeds up his pace to catch up with the others, leaving Poe standing by himself in the middle of the path.

“Huh?” Poe says, to no one in particular, staring at Finn’s retreating back. 

BB-8 whistles an inquisitive little sequence. 

“No idea,” Poe says, feeling lost. “You think this is still about us getting to stay in the nice suite?”

BB-8’s response is doubtful. 

“Yeah,” Poe replies. “I don’t think so either.”

“Uh-oh,” Leia says. 

Poe thinks he could have happily lived for the rest of his life without ever having to hear General Organa say “uh-oh.” From her mouth, the inconspicuous utterance somehow seems to resonate with the faint echo of blaster fire, explosions, and utter despair.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he says, because it doesn’t. He shifts in the uncomfortable plastic chair and resists the temptation to put his feet up on the console. He is using the pay comm in a small soundproof cubicle at the nearest branch of Glieud Planetary Bank. The bank advertises with their commitment to the privacy of their customers, which supposedly extends to the comm channels they maintain, and the hidden recording devices in their bedrooms have made him nervous about the idea of comming the general from the palace. 

The chance to escape for a few minutes from Finn and Rey’s cumulative broodiness was an added incentive for sneaking away from the fest. 

“No,” Leia sighs, rubbing her forehead in an uncharacteristically unnerved gesture. 

“We did follow all your instructions,” Poe can’t help but point out because for once, they didn’t actually mess up on purpose.

“You did,” Leia agrees reassuringly, and Poe wonders if she is picking up on the undercurrent of panic that’s been vibrating under his skin for most of the day. 

“I am slowly recognizing the need to adjust the complexity of my explanations to the unpredictability of your respective personalities. Definitely an oversight on my part. But on the upside,” she visibly brightens, “no one has died yet, so there’s that.”

Poe takes exception to the _yet_ , but keeps it to himself, because he’s here for advice, and he is quickly running out of coins.

“So what do we do?”

The general raises a brow. “Go along with it, of course.” 

“You think so?” he asks, because he really, really was hoping for a different response. “Wouldn’t it be better to … clear things up?”

“It’s too late now,” she says. “You’ve already been playing the charade all day. More importantly, if you tell them that you aren’t actually married, you will still be left with the problem of having to explain why Rey was licking your face …”

“She wasn’t licking my face!” Poe protests. “She was licking her thumb, and then …”

“Well, considering the local sensibilities, she might as well have been licking your balls,” Leia says dryly, and Poe feels his face go up in flames at the unexpected vulgarity.

“General!” he squeaks, scandalized. 

“Oh, don’t be such a prude, Poe,” she waves him off. “I am not questioning what little is left of your virtue. The point is that this kind of physical contact in public is seen as incredibly intimate, even among spouses, and would be frowned upon immensely among people who are not committed. The G’liout already consider the rest of the galaxy a cesspool of promiscuity, we probably shouldn’t play into their expectations. Right now they think of you as enamored newly-weds, that’s a sentiment they can get behind. You can work that to your advantage. Everyone likes a good love story.”

“Except for the minor detail where Rey and I are not actually in love,” Poe says a little grumpily, and Leia actually laughs at him, albeit kindly. 

“I know, believe me,” she says fondly. “I know.” 

Of course that is the moment his credit runs out, and Poe has the entire walk back to the palace to think about what in the name of the Force she possibly could have meant. 

“Thank the stars you are back,” Rey says when she spots him at the edges of the celebration, her hand shooting out to grab him by the elbow. She stops herself at the last moment, glances around, then gingerly touches her index finger to his clothed forearm in a way that is supposedly an appropriate greeting among family members, as they have been told. 

“I have no idea what I am doing,” she hisses. “I am trying to tell them about the Resistance, but they keep asking questions about our handfasting ceremony, and I am just making stuff up as I go along. By the way, we went to Jakku for our honeymoon.”

“Jakku?” Poe repeats, horrified. 

“Don’t even ask,” Rey says tiredly. “Also, you really need to go and find Finn.”

“Where is Finn?” Poe asks, instinctively scanning the room, and Rey has the audacity to roll her eyes at him.

“I don’t know,” she says slowly, as if she’s talking to a child. “Which is why you need to go find him.” Her shoulders slump. “He wandered off a little while ago and I was stuck talking to one of the courtiers, and when I finally could get away, he was gone.”

“Why didn’t you go look for him yourself?”

Rey shakes her head. “He’s still mad at me,” she says, like that is an actual explanation.

Poe frowns. “Why would he be mad at you?” he asks, and Rey shoots him a glance as if he’s the one who isn’t making sense.

“Oh Poe,” she says, and walks off with BB-8 in tow. 

In the early days after Crait, Poe had been coping (with mixed success) by trying to take some of General Holdo’s criticism to heart, as a way, perhaps, to honor her memory and make her enormous sacrifice seem a little more worthwhile. 

As part of his project of self-improvement, he made a conscious effort to put his ego and selfish desires aside by giving Finn and Rose space to explore their mutual attraction. 

“What are you doing?” Snap asked when he caught Poe hiding behind a supply crate to watch what seemed like an animated conversation between his friends. 

“Trying to be a better person,” Poe said, and was a little taken aback when Snap responded by gently rubbing his back and pressing a brotherly kiss against his curls. 

“You do know that I still outrank you?” he said, indignantly, both because Snap should really know better than to mess with his hair, and because he was worried about missing an important moment in the epic romance of Finn and Rose. 

“Absolutely,” Snap replied soothingly, but not very respectfully, patted his shoulder, and then wandered over to ask Rose for help with repairs on his X-wing. 

Thus, when Poe started seeing less and less of Finn in the following days, he chalked it up to the success of his mission and tried to comfort himself with the assurance that General Holdo would have approved. 

It was only when he ran into Rose holding hands with Beaumont Kin, the new translator guy, that he realized something was a little off. He actually liked Beaumont, so he set the possibility of challenging him to a duel over Finn’s honor aside for the time being, and instead went to find Finn. 

“Do you know that Rose and Kin are, like, a thing?” he asked Finn, who was bent over a pile of star charts in what seemed like the most remote corner of the base. 

“Yeah?” Finn said, without looking up from the charts. “I introduced them.”

“Oh,” Poe said, confused. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. “I thought you and her …” 

“No!” Finn said quickly and with slightly more force than strictly necessary. He straightened and finally looked Poe in the eye, though his expression was still closed off. 

“No, she and I are not … Well, we are friends. Just friends.” He rubbed his hands against his thighs. “So you can stop coming up with excuses for us to spend time together.”

“You noticed that?” Poe asked, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “I was just trying to be a good friend.”

“I know,” Finn nodded, and finally gave him a little smile. Poe was acutely reminded of how much he liked it when Finn smiled at him, and how much he had missed that during the past weeks.

“So if you weren’t spending time with Rose,” he said slowly, “were you actually avoiding me?”

Now it was Finn’s turn to look away in embarrassment. “Maybe?” he said. 

Poe shook his head. “Well, don’t,” he said, and reached out to grab Finn’s forearm. “Come,” he added, “wanna get lunch?”

“Sure,” Finn said easily, set aside his charts, and that was that. 

The point being: Poe knows that Finn has a tendency to retreat from him when he's feeling unhappy, and he has disappeared on him before. But he always allows Poe to find him, and never hides in a place where it wouldn't occur to him to look.

So Poe fully expects to find Finn lurking behind one of the rose bushes in the courtyard, or hiding in one of the elegant restrooms at best, and he tells himself that when he finds him, he'll try and figure out what it is he needs to apologize for this time. 

Except that even after Poe has searched the entire courtyard twice, Finn remains nowhere to be seen.

“How do you know he’s still nearby?” Rey asks, rubbing her bare forearms in a movement that betrays her nervousness. They are hiding behind a pillar at the end of the extended marble porch while the party is continuing behind them.

“The tracker says that he is somewhere on the ground floor of the building,” Poe explains, kneeling down to study the map that BB-8 is projecting onto the tiles.

Rey frowns. “You put a tracker on him?” she asks, sounding as if she’s trying to figure out whether to be put out on Finn’s behalf. Then, a beat later: “Did you put a tracker on me too?”

Poe shakes his head impatiently. “I said _BB-8_ put a tracker on him.” He pauses. “Aaand on you.”

“Why would BB-8 put trackers on us?” she asks, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Poe looks up at her from his crouched position with an awkward half-shrug. “Well,” he says, “let’s just say he’s had some bad experiences with people disappearing on him lately. He’s trying to take precautions.”

BB-8 tilts his dome towards Rey and utters a sequence of distressed beeps, ranging from mildly reproachful to heart-wrenchingly sad.

Rey gives him a wobbly guilt-tinged smile. “I’m sorry, BB-8,” she says apologetically. “You know none of us would ever leave you behind on purpose.”

“She’s right, buddy,” Poe agrees, and pushes himself up to his feet. “No one gets left behind. So let’s find Finn and make sure he is alright.”

‘Alright’ turns out to be a relative term, although it’s entirely possible that the events of the past years have warped Poe’s perception a little in that regard. But at least Finn _is_ alive and doesn’t seem to be in too much pain, mostly frustrated and uncomfortable in the low metal chair they’ve chained him to. 

“Care to explain why you are holding our friend hostage?” Poe asks after taking the blaster away from the sole guard in the room and directing him to stand in the corner, hands raised over his head. 

The guard looks at him as if he is slow. “Because I had orders.”

“Who gave the order?” Rey asks, hands on her hips.

“I already asked him that,” Finn chimes in. “Apparently he also has orders not to tell.”

“I gave the order,” a voice echoes from the hallway, and Poe turns to see General Spada step into the room. To Poe’s chagrin, he too is armed, and flanked by four men in the uniform of Glieud’s national army. 

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to go to such lengths to find your stormtrooper,” he smiles coolly. 

“Former stormtrooper,” Poe growls before Finn can even open his mouth. 

“Either way,” Spada says. “He’s a defector from the First Order. And from what I understand, it seems that they would like to have him back.”

Rey stares at him in disgust. “You are planning to sell him to the First Order?”

“Stars, no,” Spada huffs. “Selling prisoners is a little gauche, don’t you think? And we have all the resources we need, we don’t need to whore ourselves out for a handful of credits.”

“Not like the Resistance, you mean,” Poe says flatly, because there’s no reason to beat around the bush. 

“Isn’t Glieud supposed to be neutral?” Finn asks sharply. 

“Indeed,” Spada says. “This is us, assuring our neutrality.”

“Oh,” Poe says, and this is everything he hates about politics right here. “You are going to trade us in for a guarantee from the First Order to leave you alone.” 

“Not you,” Spada says, as if that should be self-evident. “Abducting Princess Leia’s right hand and the Jedi girl would be a little hard to hide. He, on the other hand,” he adds, gesturing towards Finn, “he’s just a defector who can’t be fully trusted.” He shrugs. “If he was to disappear, you simply would have assumed he defected again.”

Poe opens his mouth to tell Spada exactly where he can shove his assumptions about Finn, Poe, and the rest of the Resistance, but Finn silently shakes his head at him, stopping him before he can launch into his angry tirade. 

“Tell me one thing, though,” Finn says curiously, once Poe has obediently closed his mouth. “What would your Queen have to say about the fact that you are kidnapping a representative of General Organa?”

Spada laughs. “Who do you think these orders came from?” he asks. “The Queen is not bound by her word to a woman who betrayed her royal heritage by shacking up with a common pilot. The Queen is protecting her subjects, like any good monarch would.”

Finn suddenly starts to laugh, and Poe turns towards him with concern. He doesn’t look like he has been beaten, but maybe he hit his head during the capture. 

“What’s so funny?” one of the soldiers growls, and Finn snorts.

“She may think that she’s protecting her people, but I am going to let you in on a secret: by giving us up, she’s leading them to certain death.”

“What?” Spada blurts out, then looks like he very much wants to take it back.

Finn rolls his eyes. “You really think the First Order is going to let you hand over your prisoner and then leave to never return? There’s only two ways this can go: either you are going to deal with General Hux, in which case he’ll probably handle this matter by simply obliterating the planet. Much faster and easier than negotiating. He is not all too fond of the Jedi stuff, so if he can get rid of Rey this easily, that would just be an added bonus. Problem solved, we’ll be dead. Of course, so will you and everyone else on the planet. Now, if you are talking to Kylo Ren, it might go a little differently, because he is very much into the Jedi stuff, especially Rey. So he would probably take us all alive – if only so he can torture Poe and me to death for fun on a slow rainy day.” He smirks. “And then he’d obliterate the planet anyway, just because he’s petty like that.”

Spada frowns skeptically, but Poe detects a hint of uncertainty in his stare. “You are full of nonsense,” he says. “How would you know anything about their plans?”

Finn raises an eyebrow at him and grins. “You have already forgotten? I used to work for them.”

“You …” Spada starts, but that’s as far as he gets, because Rey is clearly getting impatient and decides to speed things up a little by putting her recent training to good use. Five blasters clatter to the floor as the guards and General Spada are flung against the wall, where Rey is keeping them suspended without even breaking a sweat. 

Poe barely gives himself time to admire her handiwork before he sprints across the room to free Finn from his shackles. “You alright?” he asks quietly and fumbles in his pocket for the small electronic lockpick he’s been carrying for years, breathing a sigh of relief when the cuffs click open on the first try.

“Yeah, I am fine,” Finn nods, massaging his chafed wrists. 

“They didn’t hit you, or …” Poe curls a hand around the back of Finn’s neck and cups Finn’s cheek with his other, tilting his head up against the light to look into his eyes. He thinks he hears some faint scandalized gasps from behind his back but can’t be bothered to turn around. “No bleeding, no drugs …”

“I’m fine, Poe,” Finn smiles, his hand coming up to circle Poe’s wrist in a reassuring gesture. “Thanks for coming to get me. I wasn’t sure you’d know where to look.”

“Poe put a tracker on you,” Rey says dryly, and Finn’s eyes widen a little but so does his smile. 

“Oh yeah?” he says, and Rey snorts. 

“I can’t believe you would actually find that romantic,” she says. “How about we focus on getting out of here?”

“Good plan,” Poe says, because she’s right, and he puts his hand under Finn’s elbow to pull him to his feet. 

“I’m sorry, General,” he tells Spada, who is still immobile, his back pressed against the wall. “Looks like your deal with the First Order is off.”

“Seems like neither of us got what we wanted,” Finn shrugs. “But such is life.”

Spada shakes his head, anger and confusion warring in his eyes. 

“I don’t understand,” he says. “If Lady Rey’s powers are so strong, why didn’t you just come here and take what you needed?”

Rey sighs deeply. “Because we are not like the First Order,” she says as she heads towards the exit. “That’s the whole point.”

“So,” Poe says. 

He has pulled Finn into the Falcon’s galley under the pretense of getting a better look at his cuts and bruises, although there’s no particular reason why he couldn’t have done so on the bridge. But Rey is piloting and not paying them attention either way, so Poe is tentatively hopeful that his terrible ruse managed to fly under the radar. 

“Rey says you are mad at her,” he says lightly, keeping his eyes on Finn’s palm. 

Finn glowers a little, but he doesn’t pull his hand from Poe’s grip. Poe decides to take it as a good sign and continues to dab low-grade bacta gel on the rather superficial scrapes. 

“I wasn’t mad,” Finn grumbles, looking down at their linked hands. “Just …” he exhales. “Mildly irritated.”

“Why is that?” Poe asks and releases Finn’s wrist to screw the lid back on the bacta gel tube. Finn lets his hand fall into his lap and shrugs. 

“This wasn’t exactly a fun mission.”

“Hm,” Poe hums in agreement and occupies himself with gathering up the used wipes and empty packaging he’s left scattered around the space. “I can see that, what with the getting kidnapped and almost being sold to the First Order thing.”

Finn waves him off. “Not that part,” he says. “I mean, it’s not my favorite thing in the world, but that’s basically just another day on the job by now.”

“So then what?” Poe asks. He drops everything into the trash and then turns around to lean against the counter.

Finn groans and runs a hand through his hair. At some point over the past months, he’s stopped shearing it stormtrooper-style short and started to let it grow out a little. Poe can barely look at him without feeling the inexplicable urge to rub his face against the tight curls. 

“You are really going to make me say it, aren’t you.” 

Poe nods silently. He knows that Finn probably thinks he’s playing stupid, but he’s just slowly putting some puzzle pieces together, and he does not want to make assumptions based on wishful thinking. That kind of thing has come around to bite him more often than he cares to remember, and he’s been trying very hard to learn from his mistakes. 

“You and Rey,” Finn says now. “You do truly make a beautiful couple, you know that?”

Poe huffs. “And _you_ know quite well that Rey and I would not survive a single day as a real couple,” he says, and Finn actually laughs at that. 

“Yeah, I know,” he admits. “Just put some pictures in my head that I didn’t much care for.”

“I do know how that feels,” Poe nods emphatically, vividly recalling some of his more colorful masochist fantasies of Finn and Rose walking into the sunset together. 

“So …” He pauses, not entirely sure how to proceed, and rubs a nervous hand over his mouth. “How do you feel about …” 

“I don’t know why I keep being friends with you!” Rey’s voice carries over from the bridge. “Please stop talking and kiss already.”

“Uhm,” Poe says awkwardly, and to his horror feels himself blush. 

Astonishingly, Finn seems entirely unfazed. “If you say so,” he shouts back, already reaching for Poe as he speaks. 

“I am going to make out with your husband now!”

“And then we went to the ship and flew back to base,” Poe ends his account of their adventure. “I am afraid the Queen of Glieud is not going to send any resources, General. I am sorry we failed the mission.” 

“You didn’t fail,” the general says. “I was operating on false intel, and I sent you into a difficult situation unprepared. But you got out alive, we know where we stand with the G’liout, so I would say that you made the most of a challenging situation. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry,” she adds, and she does sound like she means it, although the wide smile that’s accompanying her words makes Poe feel like there’s something he’s missing. 

“General,” Poe salutes, and then, because something still feels just a tiny bit off: “With all due respect, you seem strangely cheerful, considering that we wasted valuable resources only to find out that your presumed ally was going to sell you out to the First Order because she didn’t approve of your choice in husband.”

“Well,” the general says, and if he didn’t know her better, he would have said that she sounds downright smug. “It turns out that something else came out of this trip.”

“What do you mean?” Finn asks curiously.

The general waves them over to her side of the room, and pulls open the curtain separating the back corner from the rest of the space.

“… that must be almost a quarter million credits,” Poe breathes, his fingers skimming over the piles of credit chips, ingots, and coins on the table, interspersed with what looks like valuable decorative items – small figurines, jewelry, a chessboard made entirely from precious gems. 

“Just about,” Organa says dryly.

Finn picks up a necklace with an intricate pattern made from small gemstones. “What is all this?” he asks, sounding as confused as Poe feels. 

“Well, turns out that Glieud’s upper classes like nothing more than a good love story,” Organa says, and when Poe’s eyes fly up, she is outright grinning at him. 

“The wedding presents started to arrive yesterday.”

“Wedding presents,” Rey says flatly. She’s holding a tiara balanced on her outstretched hand as if it might bite her. 

“This is … “ Poe shakes his head. “This is enough to keep the Resistance in supplies for the better part of a year. That is,” he says, glancing at Rey, “provided that Rey is willing to part with her dowry.”

“What?” Rey jumps and drops the tiara back on the table. “Yes, absolutely, take it all. That’s what we did it for, right?”

The general shrugs. “Well, I would lie if I said we can’t use this,” she says. “But these were presents for the two of you.” 

Poe shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, and glances over at Finn, who’s been watching the exchange with an odd expression on his face. When he notices Poe’s gaze, he looks up, his lips curving into a hesitant smile. 

Poe smiles back. “Turns out I already got everything I need.”

Rey groans and slaps a hand against her forehead. General Organa raises her brows. 

“Poe,” Finn laughs fondly, shaking his head. “You are …”

“… ridiculous, I know,” he agrees cheerfully, and slings his arm around Finn’s waist. 

On his way out, he still pockets two matching golden pendants, because he figures it’s always good to be prepared for an impromptu wedding. 

He is pretty sure neither Rey nor Leia are going to mind. 

He very much hopes Finn won’t either.


End file.
